After what was my best sleep of the walk so far and sleeping in until after eight o’clock, we were ready to go at just after nine. We had washed our clothes and hung them up all over the gite, since we were the only ones there, and made sure that we retrieved our underwear from the arms of the unusual light fitting. It was like a multi-armed chandelier with candle-like globes pointing up, but it was made from a many branched piece of wood which had been stripped of its bark and varnished. It was really beautiful before we adorned it.
We let ourselves out the door at the back and walked around to the main road. As I leant to adjust my shoe lace, I heard shutters being thrown open and our landlady was leaning out into the street, looking like a plump pigeon in her pink nightdress. She asked if we had slept well, and wished us well. I asked about the round stone buildings without windows we had been seeing for the last couple of days and she confirmed that they were shepherds huts. Keith was already around the corner, looking at the Roman church, which was very plain on the outside, and with strange S shaped pieces of iron set into the walls. We had noticed them before but still don’t know if they are decorative or functional. The church door was locked. A beautiful statue of Jesus took all my attention, perfectly placed at the front of the square with the sky behind him.
It was cold but not raining as we walked out of the town on a little lane, some distance behind and elderly gentleman who was heading the same way as us. The lane was raised above the gardens we passed, and we saw another old man strolling down his garden path, chatting to our fellow walker as he went. He had the usual rows of vegetables and flowers and an unusual mannequin dressed in khaki overalls and wearing a German war helmet with a swastika on it, bending over a small canon. Keith thought it looked like a mock up of a canon but it looked real to me. Nevertheless, it was a long way from a cement swan and quite a surprise.
We caught up with the other walker, who was out for a stroll to the next village, about six kilometres away. We chatted for a while and then continued on at our slightly faster pace. One thing that we are learning is that it is important to start slowly and work our legs into a good speed gradually. When we are in fine form and when the terrain is gentle and the surface not too rocky, we are averaging between four and five kilometres an hour. We were hopeful of reaching our destination, Cajarc, only about ten kilometres away, by lunchtime.
Today was a day of grape vines, with red and yellow leaves telling us that different varieties shared a vineyard, of moss covered stone walls along country lanes and of romantic deserted buildings.
There were any number of places that I could see us buying and renovating, but in reality, not enough people around for us. We keep feeling that we are incredibly lucky to be walking through this beautiful, ever changing landscape of winding lanes and autumn trees.
At last we walked out of the woods and onto the rocky plateau above the town of
We walked down a very steep track, and stopped to explore a cave with a river running out of it and over the cliff a little further on. The cave had an overhanging rock like the rock art site we had visited in 
Although we were hot from walking, it was a very cold day, so we were disappointed to read on the gite door that it was not open until four o’clock. Luckily there were open public toilets nearby, and I mean open, since the shielding wall in front of the urinal was only effective if the passer-by was directly in front of it. Keith rang the number for the gite, and then we rang it again so that I could listen to the message. It would not be open until four o’clock. We had bought some bread as soon as we arrived, not wanting to fall into the 12.30 – 2.00 shop closure starvation situation again, so we settled down to have our lunch. It was a good thing that I had left a message saying that we would have some lunch and look around the town before coming back to the gite, because we soon had a phone call. It was from a lady who was walking towards us. She was just checking that we were the people who had rung. Since the town was small, she had a very good chance of finding us. She explained that the gite was shut, so even four o’clock was not going to be the time for it to open. The gite is the Commune (municipal) gite, so we really appreciated her taking the trouble to leave whatever work she does for the Commune to come and find us. She suggested a couple of hotels, but luckily we had a list of other accommodation, so we were able to phone a lady who rented out rooms at a good price. The house was not far and we could stay. When we asked where it was, we were told that it was beside the post office. Not that we knew where that was. We asked a boy who seemed surprised at the question, and told us to follow the road. When we did our own exploring later, we could see why such a question was unnecessary. The church and all the old buildings are in a huddle, with a circular main street surrounding it. All the shops and businesses are on that one street, so it doesn’t matter which way you go, you will always find whatever you want; an interesting and sensible notion in town planning for the directionally challenged, if a little restrictive to growth.
We did find the post office, as the boy had known we would, and the house we were to stay in was opposite one that was very attractive with a high fence and decorative stone portico. A lady let us in and showed us a beautiful little flat, much nicer and more homely than any hotel room could ever be, and very cosy for people who were now quite frozen. One thing about the gites and rooms we have stayed in is that there has been no sense that they shouldn’t have all sorts of extras expressing the taste and interests of the owners. Here we were able to look at photos of children, who must be the grandchildren, to read books if we wished, and to snuggle down into a beautifully comfortable double bed.
After two o’clock, we went shopping, to the post office, the Mairie (to have our creanciales stamped), to the church and on a tour of the main street. The church was an open and friendly feeling building, with an unusual raised platform on the wall for the organ, with wrought iron work holding it up.
There was a chapel dedicated to Annette Pelras, a local girl who took the name of Marie Henriette of 
We had seen the names of many priests and sisters as victims of the revolutionaries, who viewed the clergy as playing roles along with the aristocracy that were against the interests of the people. Churches were destroyed or put to other uses at that time.
In the church porch there was an advertisement for a coming film, unfortunately at the end of November. It is about a lady in her seventies who runs her own small farm using her herd of cows to pull carts and assist her instead of having a tractor. Her helper, another lady, seemed older than her. The film included other lady farmers and looked as though it would be full of unique and quirky characters. What a pity we would never see it.
We met a shop assistant who told us that she came to
After our little tour, we went home, where I whipped up some lemon and sugar pancakes, using our newly purchased crepe packet mix, which makes twenty. Instead of thinking of French chefs, I thought of Rohan, our son who would often whip up some lemon pancakes at the drop of a hat. Then I had trouble finding the thread for an African blog day and forced myself to type through thinker’s block, although luckily a French day flowed out easily enough.
After tea we retired to our room, where Keith sorted some photos and then studied French verb conjugations for some time.
I read Northanger Abbey, and even more I can see why those who lived such mannered and nothing much lives would have been upset at Jane Austen having revealed it all so damningly. I wonder how many friends were very careful when she was around, or simply didn’t invite her around any more. Another part of me thinks how much fun it would be to have nothing to do except read novels and get dressed up to go to balls, and make friends with the sisters of handsome men. Something like my vision of reading in a hammock in a white dress in a beautiful garden all day – both situations might soon wear thin, especially since they go with numerous restrictions for women.
Signs like this are found in Turkey as well as in the European countries we have visited. One might guess that it means "No Grealous allowed here" but, less interestingly, signifies that this is the town limit and you are about to leave Grealou.
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